


What is a monster?

by LillaJoba



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 13:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11968242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillaJoba/pseuds/LillaJoba
Summary: A simple enough ghost case turns much more complicated when Dean goes missing, as someone is trying to protect the spirit.





	What is a monster?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy!

Dean slowly opened his eyes, immediately realising just how uncomfortable he was, and that’s saying something for a man who spends a fair amount of time sleeping in his car when there’s no hotel to go to. He felt a running stickiness, from near the middle of his forehead to just above the outer corner of his left eyebrow, head hurting inside and out, from the obvious hit he had taken somehow, and from trying to piece together what exactly happened. He rolled his head to look up at the ceiling, fully opening his eyes, although it was still dim in the room he was in, making it almost not worth the effort. The ceiling was plain gray, pale enough to lighten the room slightly with help from the little moonlight it could reflect, coming from the barred up and overly small window on the wall of the….well, there was no getting around it, he was in a cell.

He tried to remember what had happened. He wouldn’t exactly have been surprised if he was arrested. He lifted his hand to wipe away the blood which he could feel now almost in his ear, but his hand was caught a few inches off whatever surface he was lying, by something that felt cold and smooth, trapping his wrist. He turned his head to the side, and lifted his hands as far as he could, a pair of manacles, light reflecting off the cold steel. He turned his head as far as it would go, and noticed what he was lying on. A large metal table, he guessed in the centre of the room. The other end of the thick cuffs on his hand was attached to the leg of the table. He looked around him and, not very surprised, noted that all four of his limbs were bound down. He let his head fall back down, with a dull clunk.

He sighed. “Great.”

Almost two days earlier, Sam and Dean were sitting at the table in the bunker, while Cas was out getting groceries. Despite being the only one who didn’t need to eat, Dean was the one who couldn’t be bothered to go shopping, and Sam wasn’t in the room yet, so the duty fell on him. Sam had his laptop open in front of him, Dean had his head down on the table. He groaned, and Sam shot him a sideways glance, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Dude,” he began, “what the hell did you do last night?“

Dean sighed and lifted his head up, eyes adamantly closed, and let his head fall back. "Shots.”

“What of?”

“I don’t know, tequila?” Absinthe? The condition for brain damage?“ He lifted his head, and leaned across the table, blinking a few times and rubbing his eyes.

Sam was still staring at him. "It’s Tuesday.”

“So what?” Dean was now looking at him too, lips slightly pursed. “We don’t have jobs.”

Sam took a deep breath and inclined his head. “Well,” he half breathed, half spoke the word, “we have one now.”

He turned the computer to face Dean, who winced slightly at the bright lights emitting from it, before beginning to pretend to read. His head was still banging, and he knew Sam would explain the case to him anyway.

“Two people in the last 4 days have been run over by a car in in the same town.”

Dean looked up at him. “So? Car accidents happen.”

Sam, likely realising there was no point trying to get his brother to read the article, turned his screen back towards him. “True, but not usually like this. The victims knew each other, the article is topped with a picture of the two of them together, and the circumstances were certainly interesting. They were walking on the pavement, separate instances, when suddenly, something seemed to push them onto the road into the traffic.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, how do you know that? Did the driver see anything?”

“No, but there’s more. These events happened four days apart, but on the same road, and…” he clicked the mouse pad and turned the screen once again in Dean’s direction. “this is what the survailence camera caught the second time.”

Dean pulled the laptop closer to him, squinting. A men, around 19, with dark hair was walking along, on his phone. He paused, and looked to his right. For the briefest moment, a terrified shock crossed his face and then…Dean hit pause. Just in the frame, barely visible, was a hand, scarring obvious even in the mostly colourless image, on the man’s side, pushing him. Dean pressed play and, as soon as the hand left the body of the victim, it vanished.

They got to the house about 2 hours later. It was the first victims brother they were seeing. Sam and Dean were wearing their fed suits, but Cas still hadn’t abandoned his trench coat. They had asked if he wanted to come along, since he was already at the bunker. The living room of the house was homely, pale green walls giving it a comforting feel. The person they came to interview was a young man, dark blond hair and blue eyes. He was out in the kitchen getting some tea. Sam and Dean were on the couch waiting, while Cas was looking at some of their photos. There weren’t too many out but there were a few of his brother, next to a bunch of letters. Tilting his head, he decided to take a look at them in case something was there. The first few didn’t show much, bills and a postcard, he just skimmed past them. However, one of the letters in the middle caught his eyes. A letter from a juvenile facility, detailing a release.

“Here we go.” The person came back into the room with a tray and Cas quickly tucked the letter away.

The man sat down and smiled at them briefly. Sam and Dean shared a look as Cas sat down beside them.

“Mr Johnson, I am very sorry for your loss.” Sam began. “We are here to find out what happened.”

“It was an accident” he replied, a bit too quickly. Cas squinted, and Sam and Dean looked confused too. “It…it was a car accident.”

The trio didn’t know what to say for a second.

“We just want to make sure.” Dean eventually said. “Now, we have a few questions if that’s okay.”

The person took a breath and after a while nodded.

“Did your brother ever anger anyone? Anyone who might have held a grudge against him?”

“No. I mean, no one alive, anyway.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, while Cas was studying the man’s face.

“Mr Johnson,” Dean had opened his mouth, but it wasn’t him who spoke. Instead, Cas continued the questions. “does what you just said have anything to do with why he was arrested?”

All three of them stared at him, the Winchesters confused, the man taken aback. Cas looked at him for a while. He managed to perfect that sympathetic look by that point. Eventually, the person being questioned sighed and bowed his head.

“He and a few of his friends were out one night a few years ago. They were only 15. They were messing around near a road where there were cars coming and….one of them started picking on this kid. They were pushing him around and didn’t….” he was clearly finding it difficult. “It was an accident. He stumbled and a car…my brother wasn’t a bad person.” He looked up at them.

“That’s why you were so adamant it was an accident. You know things like this can happen.”

He nodded.

They left the house not long later, with the name of the little boy who died, and the name of the rest of the people involved in the crash.

“Well, that explains why we didn’t have any record of him being arrested. He was underage, protection of a minor.”

“So, what? This kid is recreating his death on the people responsible? Well, can’t say I blame him.”

“Dean-”

“What? Freaking bullies, man, they’re total dicks.”

“Were you ever bullied, Dean?” Cas asked, not turning to face him, but instead keeping his eyes on the path.

“Well,” Dean said, hesitating and stopping by the doors of the impala, “not by people my age. In fact, a lot of those who beat me up were dead for god knows how long.”

He got in the drivers seat. Sam walked up to Cas and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good job in there.” He smiled and walked to the passenger side, leaving Cas in the back seat.

The next place they went wasn’t far, although they waited for the next day. It was the mother of the deceased child. The woman was in her late thirties, with long, slightly wavy brown hair that reached her shoulder blades, and green eyes. She had the look of someone who didn’t realise they were attractive. Her hair was uneven at the bottom, some parts cut higher than others, and the parting at the top of her head was barely that. It was a random sort of zigzag shape. While most woman they talk to have their face covered in concealer and lipstick and whatever else there is, she didn’t seem to be wearing any make up and if she was, she did a damn good job making it look natural. Dean actually thought this didn’t at all hinder her appearance. She was wearing two separate colours which would likely not be seen together on someone who was obnoxious about fashion, but it didn’t exactly look bad. A dark moss green pair of loose, clearly comfortable pants and a fitting, but not tight, purple long sleeved top. It looked as if she’d picked up the first pieces of clothing she could reach, which might have been exactly what happened. She didn’t look happy, though, which Cas, very helpfully, pointed out might be due to their presence to talk about her dead son.

She was playing with her fingers, repeating over and over again what Sam loosely recognised as finger spelling. The alphabet in sign language. She wasn’t making any eye contact with any of them, but they had to ask questions.

“Miss?” Sam asked, gently. “I’m sorry, I know this is tough-”

“You know, this is the second time in a week that cops have come here.” she cut him off. “The first was to tell me that the people who murdered my twelve year old son would be getting out.” The pain was very obvious in her eyes. “Why are you here now?”

Sam looked at Dean, who picked up for him. “We’re just reaffirming what happened three years ago.”

“I told you!” she said, but she sounded more upset rather than angry. “They killed him. And now they’re free.”

“Miss, I’m sorry, but I have to ask these questions. Two of those four people have now died, and we have to investigate.”

She raised her head to meet Dean’s eyes, having stopped fidgeting. She had a very slightly shocked look on her face, but it was mostly neutral. “Oh.”

Sam squinted. “Oh?”

“Look, I never wanted them dead, they were just kids” she started tentatively, “but I’m also not going to be heartbroken or anything.”

“Would you say they deserved to die?” Cas spoke for the first time since entering the house.

The woman looked up at him and sighed. “Does anyone?” She tore her gaze from him. “If you’ve come to find out if I was responsible, question me if you want, but despite what happened, I would never take a child away from their parents, not after how I lost mine.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Okay, we’ll leave you in peace, but just one more question.” She looked back up at him. “Where’s your son buried?”

She looked shocked, and possibly slightly offended. By that point, both brothers were used to that. It isn’t the most tactful question, after all. “Why would you want to know?”

“We just want to pay our respects.” Dean said after a moment. She studied him and he easily picked up the, admittedly well hidden, suspicion behind her eyes.

“There’s only one cemetery in this town.” She said quietly, hardly even blinking and not taking his eye off Dean, which made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

“Okay. Thank you.”

They were on the road.

“Okay, so there’s still two dickbags to protect, I suggest you two go to each of their houses, and I’ll go burn the bones.”

“Dean, are you sure?” It wasn’t a strange plan, they had done similar plenty of times, and every time the conversation went the same way. Dean or Sam suggested splitting up, the other protested, and eventually, they did it anyway.

The difference was, in this case, there were three of them and all three of them would be in three separate locations. They agree to Dean texting them when the job was done, and around midnight if it wasn’t finished yet.

That is how he ended up, alone, in a graveyard late at night. It was a clear day, no fog or win, which many people would appreciate, but he was just annoyed that he’ll have to be even more careful so he isn’t spotted. He picked up the shovel, began digging, felt a brief moment of sharp pain on his forehead and…lights out. Then he woke up, strapped to the table now really hurting his spine, in an unknown location. However, by that point, he was definitely more annoyed than scared. After a few minutes, the cell door, which Dean hadn’t yet noticed, opened and a figure of a woman walked in, carrying a wind up lamp. Dean didn’t automatically recognise who it was, but as soon as the light of the lamp filled the room, he noticed the unmistakable messy, uneven hair. Still wearing her unusual attire, she neared Dean and, he note, she didn’t seem really sure of what she was doing. Dean was definitely surprised, but he had learned to lie quite well, of course, so he just kept a mildly surprised, playful look on his face. He let his head fall back down again.

“You know,” he started, the jokiness on his face perfectly transferring to his voice, “girls usually have to buy me dinner first, before I let them tie me down.”

“Shut up.” she shot back, but her voice was not at all steady. She was shaking, and sounded more scared than Dean was surprised.

Dean looked over at her, and noticed for the first time how she was carrying a tray, with a bowl and something white on it. She turned around to face Dean, and he realised it was a bandage. He was now more confused rather than surprised. She put the edge of a towel she had over her shoulder into the bowl of water, and started dabbing at Dean’s forehead non too gently.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” he could hear the anger in her voice, as she pressed far too hard on his wound, making him hiss slightly. “Trying to make sure you don’t get infected.”

“Well, I’d say I appreciate that, if it wasn’t for the fact that,” he looked down at his feet, and then back up at her “you know.”

“I told you to shut up.”

“Yeah, well I don’t usually take orders from monsters.” At this sentence, she ripped her hand away from his forehead and turned to take the bandage off the tray. “Speaking of which, what are you, huh? Vampire? Werewolf? A demon turned nurse?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but he saw them. They had anger in them, plenty, and grief and pain, but not, he noticed, any of the hint of evil he so often saw in creatures. She didn’t speak for a long time, not until she finished bandaging up Dean’s head. She back away slightly after she finished.

“So, who are you really?” She asked. “Tell me.”

“Oh, well I’d love to but,” he lifted his hands off the solid, still cold surface, “my hands are tied.”

She huffed. “It doesn’t matter. Every hunter knows who the famous Winchesters are.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, and narrowed his eyes. “Hunter?” he exclaimed, for the first time the surprise seeping into his voice.” He looked up at her as she stared down at the floor. His face relaxed. “You’re human.”

“I would have thought this would give it away.” She reached just under her top and pulled out a chain, at the end of which hung a small pentagram.

“You’re a hunter.”

She took a deep breath and started pacing. “Was. Of course, I’d be an idiot if I didn’t wear protection.”

Dean suppressed a laugh. “Is that why I’m in this position? You just had to ask, you know.”

She turned to look at him, arms crossed. “Do you ever think about anything else?”

“Yeah, sure. Right now I’m thinking what would be the best way to get a good view of my brother and a real angel coming in and kicking your ass.”

“Why would they?” she asked him rhetorically, the fear ebbing away but the hesitation still there. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Dean attempted to sit up, forgetting he was cuffed, and was pulled back down, but his head remained tilted up. This position was starting to hurt his neck. “You’re kidding, right?” he sounded almost angry for the first time.

“I am not the problem here, Dean.” she neared the table again. “You’re the one trying to kill my son.”

The confusion Dean had when he saw her coming through to the cell was leaving him like water out of a tap. He understood why she had brought him down there.

“Listen to me. Liz, right? Look, I am not trying to kill your son.” 

“Oh, you don’t think I know why you wanted to know where he was buried?”

“He’s already dead!” he was trying not to sound harsh, but finding that difficult under the circumstances. “You know the truth, and I think that’s why…that’s why you didn’t burn him to begin with. You were hoping he’d come back.”

Dean could tell he was right, but didn’t say anything. She span around, a fierce look on her face. “I left this life. I left it, when I realised who the real monsters were. Not demons, or ghosts, or vampires. People. People who took away my sweet, innocent, non-hunter child from me. I left this life behind, so WHY DOES IT KEEP. COMING. BACK TO ME?!” She slammed her fist three times on the table, each time emitting a hollow sound, as she finished what she was saying.

Dean saw the tears now running down her face, the grief and rage in her eyes.

Sam was checking his phone nervously. Half past twelve. Dean may not always be the most punctual person, but he’d never let Sam worry, especially while he was protecting this family. After a few more minutes, he’d had enough. He went through his contacts until he got to Cas’ name. He picked up after the second ring, and his voice told him he was anxious too.

“Sam.”

“He hasn’t called or texted you either, huh?”

“No.”

“Okay, look,” he looked around at the person he was supposed to be watching, who was currently watching tv, “I think we should meet back up. Dean could be in trouble.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Sam and Cas met back up at the hotel room ten minutes later, and headed out together to the cemetery. They didn’t want to go alone, not knowing if whatever had stopped Dean from signalling them was still there. They were searching for the grave of the young boy, which didn’t take long, mostly due to Dean’s shovel still being next to it.

“Cas!” Sam called him over.

Cas stood next to Sam, staring at the shovel as he picked it up. “Why did we leave him alone?” Sam already heard the self blaming tone of his voice. After things that have happened, Cas always seemed to find a way to blame himself for anything and everything.

“Hey.” Sam said, voice more calm than he was feeling. “He’ll be okay.”

Cas shook his head. “It was a stupid suggestion of his to split up.” His voice was also calm, but somehow there still seemed to be an edge to his voice. “Why did we just follow it?”

“Cas,” Sam started again, now placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “whatever happened, it wasn’t our fault, alright? Dean’s usually an idiot out of his own accord, not anyone else’s.”

This made Cas give a weak smile, which Sam reflected, although both of them knew neither was exactly happy.

“Come on. Let’s get back to the last place we were together, see if someone heard our discussion there.”

The house looked like it had been broken into, but nothing had been taken. The door was unlocked and ajar, the chairs haphazardly pushed to the side as if someone was hurriedly trying to get somewhere, and several cupboard and cabinet doors were open, as if someone had searched for something. They were looking around the place trying to find any source of demonic activity, ghostly interferences, anything at all.

Sam was looking under the sofa, when he noticed something glint. He reached a hand under, far too quickly, and pulled it back with a small sound, a small gash on his fingers. He leant back down and, far more carefully, pulled out a short, silver dagger. Sam hadn’t realised how good he’d become at identifying different metals, but it was more instinct by then. He recognised the colour of the silver, as well as the weight, and the knife was almost exactly the same as he and Dean would use to kill werewolves.

“Cas, look at this!” he called out through the house, not taking his eyes off the blade.

Cas walked in from the kitchen, towards Sam. He turned to look at him.

“Look at this.” Sam said, handing him the blade. Cas turned it over in his hands briefly.

“Where did you find this?”

“Under the couch. I cut my hand on it.”

Cas was still examining the knife. “Why would she be keeping a knife under there?”

“Let’s find out.” Sam stood up, and Cas turned around. He froze. He looked at the doorway just outside of the kitchen. He went closer to it, and crouched down on the carpet. Sam noticed this.

“Cas?” He went over to his friend’s side. “What is it?”

“There was something here.” He pointed to the carpet in front of him. In the material of the rug, there was a small, circular dent, as if something had been pressing down on it for a while, and was only just lifted up.

Sam looked down at it, and then something caught his sight, out of the corner of his right eye. A picture was hanging on the wall. It was of Liz and her son, sitting on a set of swings in a park. The sun was out and even in the picture, it was clear it was reflecting off something around her neck. Sam looked closer at the picture and noticed a small, circular pendulum, a five pointed star in the middle. He straightened up an turned back to face Cas.

“I think I know what happened.”

Dean was getting really restless now, but rather than anger, he felt more sympathy towards her. She was sitting a short way away, not looking at him, a wooden baseball bat lying next to her feet

“Look, I’m truly sorry about your son. But humans aren’t monsters. I mean, granted some of them can be real dicks,” his voice was steady and measured, “but I have dealt with a lot of real monsters, and I know you aren’t one. I can tell.”

She scoffed slightly. “Do you give that speech to all the girls?” She looked away from him again, and sighed. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to lose the person you love more than anything in the world?”

“I lost both my parents, among so many others I can’t even count.”

She shook her head. “It’s not the same. It isn’t about being related to them, or simply loving them.” She turned to face him. “You raised them, you helped them, you taught them, you took care of them. You did everything to keep them safe, keep your life hidden so they can go to school and not have to end up putting their lives on the line day in, day out. And yet, you still lose them. Do you know how that feels?”

Dean thought of Sam. Maybe he wasn’t technically his parent, but he had raised him, and had done everything to not have him sacrifice himself, the Winchester move, and he had still lost him, more than once.

“Believe it or not, I actually think I do, yeah.”

She stood up and walked towards the table. “I still hunted after having him. I felt like I had to protect the people, keep them safe from the monsters. But I kept him away from it, thinking it would keep him safe. I was so adamant to do everything on my own, I wasn’t there when he actually was in trouble.” Her voice was soft and mostly steady, but Dean could sense that she was barely managing.

“It was a car accident. You couldn’t have done anything if you wanted to.”

“Exactly. I tried so hard to keep him safe from all the things that go bump in the night. From demons, and werewolves, and everything else. But in the end, it was non of those that were the reason for his death. It was just a group of teenagers who thought underage drinking and picking on kids much younger than them was the way to go. That is why we are the biggest monsters this world will ever have. All those creatures, they hunt for sustenance. Out of instinct, for revenge. Humans just do it for the hell of it.”

The room went quiet and Dean was looking at the tear soaked cheeks of the woman in front of him. Or, well, by his side as he was still tied own.

“Are you telling me those kids deserve to die?” he asked. “They made a mistake, a mistake that unfortunately had horrible consequences, but you have to understand that. You know about this stuff, you know you have to let him go.”

“You don’t stop being a parent if you lose your child.” she spoke defiantly, but a tremble now audible in her voice. “It doesn’t matter that he’s dead, I am still his mother, and I will do anything to protect him, to keep him safe, even if I failed the first time.”

“Liz. Trust me, I understand that. But that’s exactly why you have to let him go.” he sounded gentle. Despite everything she’s done, Dean felt something other than anger towards her. Maybe it was the way she talked about her family, or the fact that they’ve both lost so much, but he saw a little bit of himself in her eyes. “He deserves to be at rest.”

She looked at him, mouth parted slightly, as another tear rolled down her face. She looked down at her hands, and back up at Dean. He didn’t know what she was going to do for a second, but then she stood up and took the key for the padlocks keeping the bindings together out of her pocket, and started working on his hands. Just as she had unlocked his right hand, they heard a yell.

“Dean!” it was Sam’s voice, coming from beyond the room, into the cell.

“Crap.” she said, and started hurrying up. She freed his hand, but before she could get to his foot or his left side, a gun shot sounded. She covered her ears and started coughing as the door brought up dust. She looked round to see the lock on the door completely shot off, which was unnecessary as she never locked it. Before the room was cleared enough to see properly, she found herself pushed up against the wall so hard that her head started bleeding from the impact. She opened her eyes to find a pair of angry blue ones staring at her, and then heard Dean yell.

“Cas, it’s okay.” She turned her head to look at Dean, and found Sam standing over him, hand on one of his chains, but not moving, clearly surprised by his sudden outburst. “I’m okay.”

“Dean, she kidnapped you!” Sam pointed out in shock.

“I was letting him go!” Liz yelled back, still against the wall.

“Why’d you take him in the first place?”

Before she could reply, Dean spoke up. “Uh, guys, I’m perfectly happy with the three of you tearing each other’s throats out, but can you at least unlock me first?”

After Dean was free to move, they sat down Liz on the thin bench at the wall, while the three of them stood in front of her. “Talk.”

She met Sam’s eyes, and looked across them. “And say what? I’m sorry? Okay, I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let him send him away.” She laid her face in her hands.

Sam was now looking at her with less anger, and more empathy, while Cas was still looking confused. Sam sat down next to her.

“You know your son is already gone, right? Dean wasn’t trying to hurt him.” his voice was much warmer this time, and she lifted her head, eyes swollen, to look him in the eyes.

“I know.” she said, nodding, and then looked up at Dean. “And I’m ready. You were right. I’m not protecting him by keeping him from peace. I just have one thing to ask.”

“What’s that?” Cas asked her, and she looked at him. His eyes were no longer angry, though she suspected that had more to do with the Winchesters reactions rather than her apology.

“I want to be the one to do it.” she spoke clearly, confidently, but not without pain. “I deserve the right to be the one to put my son to rest.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other for a second, and then smiled at her. “If you’re sure.”

They were standing next to the, now dug, shallow grave, Liz furthest in front with a box of matches. Her hands were shaking, and she was breathing deeply. Sam was standing slightly back, on her left side, watching her sympathetically, until a sudden gust of wind made him turn around. Behind him, stood a little boy, covered in blood and scars, but it was still easy to tell he had the exact same shade of hair that his mum had. He smiled at him slightly, but it was more of a sad smile. He gently nudged Liz upper arm.

”Liz.”

She turned around, and looked at her son, for the first time in 3 years. Dean and Cas were also looking around, but more at her rather than the boy. Her face dropped, and she started tearing up again. Mouth parted, breathing deeply, she slowly stepped closer to him.

“Mummy?”

She smiled, releasing a well needed breath, now crying and closing her mouth. “I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

turned around, not baring to look at him any longer, took a deep breath and striked the match head on the box. She looked at it briefly, and turned her head back to look where her son had been standing seconds before, but he was gone. She closed her eyes, turning her head back, and threw the match onto the already fuel covered bones, sending it up in flames. She opened her eyes, staring into the flames, and started fidgeting with her hands again.

Sam smiled and looked down at her hands, then back up at her. “Liz?” she made a noise signalling she heard him. “You speak sign language?”

She turned to Sam, and looked down at her hands, smiling, then looked back ahead. “It’s what I do in situations like this. My son went to a school where there was a deaf child. He decide to learn sign language to make sure she didn’t feel left out.” she smiled, bowing her head. “I used to help him. His grades actually slipped because he spent so much time practising signing.”

Sam, Dean and Cas were all looking at her with the same, somewhat blissful expression. “He sounds like a good kid.” Dean commented.

“He was.” no one said anything after that, they just watched the flames dance, and eventually diminish into ashes, finally letting him sleep in peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I loved writing it, and I hope you like the story!


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